


First Aid Kit

by adara



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, First Aid, Future Fic, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Paramedic Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Rated T for language, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara
Summary: In which Stiles is injured and his husband is not thrilled with his sense of humor or his lack of self-preservation skills.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 18
Kudos: 354





	First Aid Kit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swlfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swlfangirl/gifts).



> Very belated and short birthday ficlet for my beloved swlfangirl based on [this post](https://burnonyou.tumblr.com/post/180536982724/amy-opens-first-aid-kit-why-would-you-fill-it)
> 
> TW for blood/injured Stiles.

Derek’s applying pressure to the wound on his ribs and he’s trying to focus more on trying to get in as full a breath as possible and less on how much blood he’s lost this week and how much the actual process of inhaling and exhaling sucks right now. All the ouch. Stiles thinks he has definitely had better weeks.

“Scott, where is that first aid kit?!” Derek yells over his shoulder in the vague direction Scott had been headed, eyes getting wider with panic as he continues to apply steady pressure to the cuts on Stiles’ side.

If Stiles was more with it right now, he’d probably have realized that Scott’s been digging around for that first aid kit for a while. Some Motrin would be nice about now. Werewolf pain sucking mojo must not work when you’re being a werewolf bandaid, Stiles muses. Maybe one of those fun to squeeze instant ice packs too. Sometimes they’re hard to pop but shaking them to activate them is always fun. After he gets some stitches or at least some bandages to close up his side a bit he’s gonna get one. Yup. For sure. Some gauze or something might be nice. Sounds like a good plan.

He wonders briefly if he’s staining the upholstery and then remembers their couch is leather. He’d thought it was funny at the time, a throwback to when he used to refer to Derek’s first betas as the leather trio and the dude had pretty much constantly been seen wearing his own leather jacket like he owned nothing else and like they didn’t live in California where it is h-o-t hot and leather outerwear is definitely too much outerwear. He laughs a little at the memory and then flinches because ow. Oh yeah, that whole thing. 

“Stiles,” Derek says softly but firmly, “It’s not _that_ much blood but considering this is the third time this week and the leg bled way worse on Tuesday, could you maybe take it easy for a couple of days. Like long enough to heal?”

Stiles pats his cheek gently grimacing when he remembers that his hand is tacky with his own congealing blood, “Oh Der, so nice that you care. Not all of us have the benefit of healing like you do but I _do_ try not to get hurt. You can’t keep me home until I’m sure they’re all out of this town and not hurting anyone else. You _can_ keep me home long enough for maybe some butterflies or some gauze or something though. Motrin?”

Scott finally makes it back to the couch with the kit in hand but he looks crestfallen as he sets it down beside Derek and quickly backs away to the door. “I’ll be right back,” he says as he jets out the loft door, not bothering to close it behind himself. “Keep applying pressure, he should be clotting well enough by now but keep the pressure.”

“That took long enough,” Stiles says looking down at the kit next to him. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, one hand holding Stiles’ side and the other still slippery with Stiles’ blood and trying to open the smooth latch of the white plastic box, “why do I smell Cheetos?”

“Maybe Scott is fetching me a snack to help me recover. Cheetos are the food of the gods. Carbs are good stress foods. Energy for healing.” But then it hits him just as he hears the snap of the latch finally go. Oh no. Oh god. This is not going to be good.

“WHY WOULD YOU FILL IT WITH CHEETOS?” Derek dumps the box out still one-handed hoping to find something, even just a single sealed gauze square, that’s not just stale neon orange snacks.

“It was funny at the time…” he tries weakly to defend himself. 

It _had_ been quite a while ago, a testament to how good the pack had gotten that this is the first time that kit has been pulled out in the loft. Granted, the wolves of the pack don’t ever need a first aid kit that isn’t comprised of the ash of the menagerie of wolfsbane varietals they’ve encountered and the humans generally go to Mama McCall’s house or the ER depending on the severity but she’d finally made them each a first aid kit for their homes, apartments, and cars just so shit like this would not happen. She’d even made them all take a basic first aid class with the Red Cross and they’d all promptly complied as if it was an alpha’s order. She has always had that way about her, human though she definitely is. They tend to defer to Scott in her absence though, him being a paramedic and all.

“How is it _funny_? Stiles, you are still bleeding! You know that venom inhibits clotting and now you’re going to bleed out on our fucking couch!”

Scott bursts back in the room breathless and clutching a similar white box, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”

Derek makes a single grabby hand and Scott sets the box down and opens it up. He uses the hand sanitizer on himself and gloves up before he touches anything then gets to cleaning the venom out of the cuts with the sterile saline solution. Derek moves his hand only low enough to give Scott the access he needs to pat the area dry with a gauze pad and get the butterflies on. He starts to pull the pain, black veins making an appearance up his arms as he does, while simultaneously glaring at his husband.

“You’re lucky this isn’t as deep as the last ones, bro. We used all the sutures from your car kit the other day and I haven’t gotten more from mom yet. Mine’s out too.”

“Yes, I feel _so_ lucky in this moment as you’re taping my skin back together Scotty,” Stiles shoots back.

“Well, if I didn’t have to spend five minutes searching both bathrooms for wherever you decided to hide the _actual_ first aid supplies before having to run for the next closest kit- when you know full well it’s down to the bare minimum -then maybe I would find your joke funnier,” Scott sasses back, finishing the transpore tape he’s securing the non-adherent dressing with. 

“It was funny at the time!” Stiles tries again.

Derek just shakes his head and stands to go wash the blood off his hands. 

“You know, I’m starting to worry that you don’t know what the word funny means anymore in your old age,” Scott says. He sanitizes his hands again and packs up the remnants of the kit from the car and neatly sidesteps the pile of Cheetos on his way to dispose of all the wrappings and soiled gauze. 

“Thirty-four is not old, asshole. And I’m only six months older than you!”

“Thanks, Scott. I’ve got it from here,” he hears Derek say from where he’s re-situated himself on the couch. 

“No prob,” Scott says and pats him on the shoulder on his way back to the door. “The venom’s out of the cuts and he’s clotting again but he’ll probably be a little woowoo from the systemic effects for another hour or so. Don’t murder him for his stupidity, please.”

Before Derek can respond to that, at least within Stiles’ range of hearing, Scott’s sliding shut the door to the loft and presumably returning the extra first aid kit from whence it came. He’s slumped on the end of couch, practically boneless with a palm resting on Stiles’ outstretched calf. Derek’s pinched expression reminds Stiles far too much of his father for his comfort so he wiggles a bit to get his attention and immediately regrets it with a sharp hiss of pain.

“Der, help me up, I gotta clean off the couch and take a shower. This shirt’s ruined, Scotty shoulda just cut it off,” he grumbles, still breathing shallowly. 

Derek takes a deep breath and runs a tired hand through his hair before standing to gently help Stiles up and into the bathroom. “I’ll take care of the couch, no shower for you though. Scott will be pissed if he’s gotta come back and redo that dressing. I’ll bring in a basin in a minute. Sit here a sec.”

“Oooh, do I get a sponge bath? This is an excellent plan. Couch then me though, blood’s a bitch to clean up from the seams if you let it start to dry out.” He can’t see Derek from where he’s perched on the toilet lid but he thinks he can sense the eye roll from here, even with walls between them. 

Derek comes back a few minutes later with two bowls, one with salt that he adds warm tap water to and the other with a mountain of neon orange squiggles. He helps Stiles out of his shirt and starts cleaning up the mess carefully while Stiles eyes the second bowl in disbelief.

“Did you- did you really bring me _Cheetos_ , Derek?”

Without looking up from his gentle cleansing strokes Derek deadpans, “They’re the food of the gods. Energy for healing.”

Stiles laughs despite himself, forgetting to brace himself because yeah laughing hurts, and scoops up a handful. The face he makes when he realizes these are the same stale Cheetos from their living room floor elicits a smirk from Derek but Stiles is never one to back down so he swallows them down and steels himself for another handful. He’s changed his mind, Cheetos are the worst.


End file.
